Fucked Up, Empty Bottle, Chicago

Ever since 2009’s Polaris Prize winning ‘Chemistry of Common Life’ broke open the fandom floodgates for Fucked Up’s refined hardcore riot-act the band has been making headlines and friends everywhere they go. It’s no surprise to still see a capacity Empty Bottle crowd anxiously hugging the stage at 12:45 a.m. awaiting the fulfilment of brilliant blog rumours detailing frontman Pink Eyes’ shirtless wildman antics. Needless to say, no one is left disappointed. Only two songs into the powerful set and he’s beet-red and topless with a broken condom over his head.

The man is a hardcore punk revivalist of the best nature; an intellectual lyricist who knows his art and knows his crowd. For what he lacks in polished lyrical ability he makes up for with charisma and charm, not to mention a truly solid lineup leading him through with breakneck rhythms and superbly layered guitar work.

As the show progresses and the band tear through ‘Chemistry of Common Life’ standout track ‘Son the Father’ it becomes increasingly clear how crucial the fans are to the success of a Fucked Up show. Unlike most live acts where bands are purposely barricaded from their fans with overly sensitive, testosterone junkie bouncers, Fucked Up openly thrive on the chaos of stage diving, beer tossing, and mic sharing.

In fact, some of the best moments of the between-song-downtime involve crowd interaction. Pink Eyes proceeds to tell the crowd that “Chicago is best city to play in the whole world!” - a fan quickly shouts back even louder, “You say that to everyone!” He openly laughs and defends himself. “No I don’t. I once told Duesseldorf they were the best city in Germany, but that is like saying you have the best burrito in Toronto.” The band then power into ‘Crusades’ and the venue goes ballistic.

The rest of the night is a joyous, though sometimes monotonous, punk blur of fan favourites, plus a surprise encore finale of The Sex Pistols’ ‘Bodies’. It’s a true-to-the-artist rendition that leaves fans and band pleasantly exhausted and openly thankful.

Just as raucous as anyone would have hoped, at times the more casual of showgoers might want to hear more of the band and a bit less of the front row’s shouted vocal fill. Ultimately that is what a Fucked Up show is all about, and in many ways what makes it so great.